Days of Legend 4: Battle for Camelot
by Swift tales
Summary: Racing to gather the lord of the south and defeat Mercia while trying to deal with Merlin's revelation, it's hard to be the prince of Camelot.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Camelot was lit up like a beacon in the dark. Leon couldn't tell how many candles must be burning this night, but from the view of his tiny room he could see at least hundreds lighting up the lower town. The people could hardly afford it, but they burned what small and precious wax they had for the wounded and the refugees to find their way to Camelot in the dark. They were candles for lost souls and prayers for the dead. Leon had used them himself to find his way back to Camelot, riding through the night to make it home as quickly as possible to save as many lives as he could.

Thomas, the young man who stood behind the bar in The Singing Hedgehog had gone to war to fight for his city and he'd died only two hours before they'd reached the city gates. There was nothing anyone could do for him now. Leon hated to think how many others had died, how many might still die.

"Come in."

Neville stood in the doorway. His hair was clean, for the first time in three days maybe. He was dressed very similar to Leon, in a simple tunic and trousers with a sword girded around his waist. He looked tired, but his back was straight and his head held high. If he lived through the battles to come, Leon would ask Arthur to give him his knighthood, won on the fields of Cadarn Afon.

"Sir Leon, nearly all preparations are done. We'll be ready to leave with first light on the morrow."

Leon nodded. "Good. We can't afford to be back late. The truce will hold for four days, but not a minute longer."

He trusted Elyan, but he'd rather that trust not need be tested the very first time.

"And the council, my lord?" Neville asked.

Leon simply shook his head and left it at that. He could read the disappointment in the downward curve of Neville's mouth. If only Arthur were here, then things would be much easier, much more straightforward. Leon was a field commander, a captain, a knight. He wasn't a prince or a king to command armies and win wars.

"Go on, Neville. You need to get some rest. We have an early morning."

"I will take rest when you will, Sir."

Leon huffed laughter through his nose. "I will rest, Neville. I only need a quick word more with Gaius and then I'll take to my bed. I promise."

Neville looked suspicious, but Leon clapped him on the shoulder and pushed him out the door. They walked down the hall together, in the direction of the citadel. Neville took the stairs down to the soldiers' barracks and Leon went to the left, to the great hall where Gaius stood, leaning over a young man's body. He was applying a strange-looking paste to the boy's forehead. They all looked like children to Leon now.

"Gaius, can you spare a minute?"

The old man looked up and cast his eyes across the hall. Braziers were burning in the corners and shadowy figures moved between the rows and rows of injured. Leon could faintly glimpse Gwen and the Lady Elena, both of whom looked so tired and worn that Leon didn't know how they managed to put one foot in front of the other.

"Only a very brief minute, I'm afraid."

"Of course, I don't mean to keep you any longer than I have to." They moved closer to the wall, away from the other caretakers and the unconscious bodies.

"There has been no word from Merlin or Arthur since you asked me this morning, I'm afraid."

Leon desperately needed a drink. "I know. It's not that. I was wondering about the king's … condition."

Gaius' eyebrows were doing that thing they did that made small children hide behind their mothers' skirts in the streets. "Uther?"

"There has been no change in his condition? No chance that he might make an appearance for the people, for the council at the very least?" It was a faint hope, but perhaps the sight of Uther would rally the men. Word might reach Mercia that Uther was not as sick as Bayard wanted him to be. If Uther could appear before the council long enough, they could force the Southern lords to send the men they'd promised Uther.

Gaius shook his head. "I'm afraid the king's condition remains unchanged. Our only hope is that Merlin finds Arthur in time and brings him back to Camelot."

Leon knew that Merlin had saved Arthur's life more than once. He knew that he should have faith in Merlin, but it was hard when the people around him were dying and there had been no word, no message, nothing. For all he knew, Merlin and Gwaine had fallen afoul of whatever had taken Arthur and they were all lost already. With a tired sigh, he nodded his thanks.

"Thank you, Gaius."

The old physician turned away and Leon watched him return to his duties. There was nothing for it really. He left the hall behind him and made for the battlements. Braziers had been mounted up there as well, to warm the guards and to provide light to see by. It didn't take him long to find Lancelot.

"And? How are things?"

Lancelot shrugged. "Quiet."

"No fights, riots, disturbances of any kind?"

"Not since the one before you came back. People have been more subdued. There are more men in the city now and more wounded have returned as well."

Leon nodded and leaned against the wall closest to the brazier. "Tempers might flare up again when we leave. You should be prepared for that."

Lancelot inclined his head. "We will be."

A cold breeze blew over the wall and Leon shivered. He should have worn a cloak. "How's the rotation going?"

Lancelot shrugged. "Most of the men are patrolling the Lower and Upper Town. During the day they make tours of the Outer Town as well. All the gates are watched and I have enough men to switch them out during the day so they all get enough rest. Amadis de Gaule has been as faithful as he promised."

Leon remembered Amadis, the red-haired knight who'd danced with Percival the night Arthur had won the tournament, when they'd all gotten drunk off Arthur's victory and more wine than Leon had ever seen in his life. He wasn't surprised at all.

"I didn't expect anything less. The knights of Lady Elena's entourage?"

"They're both around. They've requested to patrol in the Citadel, to stay close to their king and lady."

"And lord Godwyn?"

"Gaius tells me he's gone to see Uther quite often, but that's all. He's tried to convince Lady Elena to leave Camelot, but she won't and as long as she is here, he won't leave either."

Leon nodded. Things in Camelot were as he'd expected them to be, not better but at the very least not worse either. "Alright. You are on night patrol, tonight?"

"Yes."

"Good, wake me if anything comes up. We'll be leaving early in the morning. I'd like it if you came to see us of before you went to your rest. A show of solidarity might lift some spirits."

Lancelot nodded. "Of course."

Leon left the night behind and stepped back into the citadel. He'd never known the keep to be so hushed in the middle of the night. He was used to silence of night patrol, where you could just hear the footsteps of your fellow guards at the edge of your hearing. But the atmosphere was different now, oppressive and full of hushed whispers in the corridors and the scuttling, careful footsteps of the maids, as if they were afraid of waking a monster in their midst. Everyone seemed to be waiting, holding their breaths, for the end or for battle Leon didn't know. He hoped war wouldn't come to Camelot itself, but the way things were going now, Bayard might reach the city in a matter of weeks. If he'd broken the treaty while Leon was gone, if he'd gathered more men and Elyan couldn't hold the river or send word to Camelot, Bayard could be outside the walls by noon the following day. The thought chilled him and he banished it from his mind. Bayard would hold the truce and if not, Elyan would hold the river.

"Sir Leon!"

The shout startled him out of his thoughts and he had to relax his grip around the heft of his sword. A guard was hurrying towards him, obviously agitated.

"Everything alright?"

"Sir, you're wanted in the prince's chamber urgently."

Leon frowned. "By whose orders?"

"By the prince himself."

The words seemed to tilt the world slightly on its axis and Leon held on to his sword. "What?"

The guard blinked and a faint look of unease was spreading across his face. "The prince, he ordered me to come and fetch you as quickly as possible. He said it was an emergency."

They hadn't told the people that Arthur was missing, but neither had they given an official statement on where he was or why he hadn't gone out with the army. There were plenty of rumours. Most seemed to centre around Uther's illness and how the prince must have finally succumbed to it as well. But surely, if Arthur had been spotted Leon would know of it already. The news would have spread faster than lightening.

"He spoke to you himself?"

"Yes, he did. His manservant, Merlin, was with him and Sir Gwaine and a tall lady."

Leon didn't hear the end of the sentence, because he'd already pushed past the guard. The hallway to Arthur's chamber was silent and he could hear muffled voices behind the big oak doors. His heart was hammering madly in his chest and it took nearly all of his hard-won skill not to let it break his composure. He knocked on the door and a very familiar voice bade him enter. Merlin was standing near the cabinet, his face turned away from the door. Gwaine and Arthur were standing near the fireplace, travel-stained and talking in low voices.

A tall woman stood near the table, only two feet away from him. She turned at the sound of the door opening and one moment he was looking at the sheen on her hair, the tight pull on the strands from the bun at the back of her head, the hollow at her throat, the soft, round swell of her breast and the amulet around her wrist. Between her first blink and the next he'd drawn his sword and held it at her throat.

"Leon." Arthur's voice sounded very far away and a cold sweat had broken out on his forehead.

"Leon, put the sword down."

"Why?"

He didn't lower his arm and Arthur stepped forward carefully. Leon noted the stance of his feet, the way he shifted his weight carefully to his right leg, ready to throw himself forward and into Leon to knock the sword away. He carefully loosened his grip so his hand wouldn't cramp or spasm on contact. Sweat was gathering in his palm, clammy and uncomfortable. His heart was hammering in his chest.

"She saved my life," Arthur said, calmly. "She came here to help us."

Leon swallowed. "She could be making you say that. She can _make _you do things."

"I know," Merlin offered. He'd come closer and Leon turned his head slightly to see him. "But I promise we know what we're doing. She's not using magic." And before Leon could say anything, Merlin's eyes glowed and the fire in the grate sprang to life, all on its own.

"Merlin!" Arthur's face was pale and his voice sounded like the crack of a whip, but he didn't move to stop Merlin, didn't move to do anything, really.

Merlin looked from Arthur back to Leon. "I'd stop her if she was."

Merlin could use magic. Merlin, who'd saved Arthur's life more times than he could count. Merlin had gone and _found_ Arthur and brought him back safe and sound. Leon had always trusted Merlin's judgement. He slowly lowered his sword, but he didn't sheath it just yet.

"Why is she here?"

"She is here," Arthur said, "at my request."

Leon had never questioned Arthur's judgement in public. He'd never told Arthur he was a lunatic for taking a man servant into a war zone, for choosing the quest of the Fisher King, for fighting a dragon, for attempting to conquer a kingdom with only four other knights at his side. Right now, Leon was very, very tempted to break that record.

"We need a physician at the front and Gaius is too old," Arthur continued, as if this was all completely, perfectly reasonable. He turned to the fireplace. "I need you to tell me everything about the war so far."

Leon finally turned to look at him fully, although he didn't lose sight of her in the corner of his eyes. It was only then he noticed that Arthur had one arm in a sling. "We've given battle to Mercia twice. Both times we were ambushed but we fought him off. There've been many losses so far and we started the fight with half the men Bayard has. I'm not sure how heavy Mercia's losses are, but he did offer us a four day truce. I left Elyan behind with most of the army and took a small patrol to bring the wounded home. We're returning to battle on the morrow. I expect to arrive at our encampment in two days. Bayard won't wait another day for battle. What happened with your arm?"

Arthur shook his head and turned to the other people in the room. "I'll tell you when Lancelot gets here. Gloria, I want you in the great hall, doing what you can for the soldiers. Gwaine, go with her and make sure that the guards know she's here on my orders. Merlin, go fetch Lancelot and afterwards go to the kitchen and get us some food."

Leon cleared his throat. "Lancelot should be patrolling on the battlements."

Gwaine nodded. "After you, my lady."

Gloria frowned and cut her eyes at Leon, but hurriedly looked away when she caught him staring back. She turned to Arthur. "I should look at your arm, if you want to be able to lift a sword in two days."

"Later, the dying need your help first."

Her whole frame drew up as her back straightened and when she spoke next her voice sounded strained. "Fine" – she pointed at a goblet on the table – "but make sure you finish that."

She nodded stiffly and then went quietly. Merlin hesitated by the door. He obviously wanted to say something but Arthur ignored him and refused to look at him and so he went. The door thumped softly behind him and the minute they were gone, Arthur stiffly lowered himself into a chair.

"Two days on horseback with a bad arm," Arthur sighed and Leon went to sit down next to him. "But it's getting better a lot quicker than it normally would have. Still…" He slipped his arm out of the sling and slowly, carefully rotated his shoulder. He winced at the pull of muscle and skin and then Leon moved to help him back into sling. "Thank you." He picked up the goblet and sipped it. Leon sat down across from him so he wouldn't be tempted to knock it out of his hand. "You said you only had half of Mercia's force. That can't be right. Unless Mercia has suddenly doubled the gold in their coffers."

"The lords in the south refused to send men because my message did not bear the royal seal."

Arthur frowned. "Didn't the council give you license to use the seal?"

Leon refused to shift in his seat even though unease made him want to. "The council expressed concern about giving me full reign over Camelot's army."

Arthur's frown deepened and he sat back in his chair. "_Concern_?"

"Your father is ill and you went missing without a trace. If anyone were to gain control over the royal seal, if any knight of Camelot were prepared to stage a coup of any kind, now would be the opportune moment."

Arthur's anger was loud and red hot. It always had been. Even when they were pages together and Arthur had to press his lips together not to mouth off or shout at the older knights. Even then, he'd rage and rave alone in his chambers. He threw things and tore things. He'd calmed with age and his rages were less like childish temper tantrums, but Arthur still had a tendency to explode, like fireworks going off. Merlin often caught the worst of it these days. Arthur so still and so white was worrying.

"They think you'll attempt to take over Camelot and so they refuse you the use of the royal seal to summon reinforcement against Mercia?"

"I'm afraid so. They don't trust me, Arthur, because I have always supported you instead of your father. Your father's illness and your disappearance has shaken them badly. They don't trust the other knights either. Elyan, Lancelot, Percival ….. They were all commoners once. The council is full of traditionalists. They believe you can only trust others of nobility."

"They'll have to learn to trust them. I am the prince of Camelot and one day I will be king. That day might come sooner than they like, but there's nothing they can do about that." He rose from the table and moved towards the left side of the room, where the bed and the desk stood. He sat down behind it. "Can you spare Neville long enough for him to deliver a message?"

"I think if Neville had the opportunity to prove himself in front of the prince, he might prove himself worthy of knighthood."

Arthur nodded. "Very well, I'll have Frederick take it then."

"Frederick's dead. He took an arrow in the back."

Arthur looked up at him. "Does his father know?"

"I informed Lord Alvrig this morning."

"We'll send his brother then, keep that one out of trouble for a bit. If the southern lords know what's good for them they'll meet us at Vortigern's Keep."

There was a knock on the door and Arthur idly motioned with his writing hand, the quill dripping ink everywhere.

"Come in."

It was Lancelot. He was dressed in the armour they wore for patrol within the city and his red cloak was slightly damp. It must have started raining then. Leon hoped it wouldn't rain tomorrow. It would make the march that much harder. Not to mention that it would slow down the wagons if the roads got too muddy. Rain could be disastrous for the battlefield.

"I could hardly believe it when I saw Merlin. It's such a relief to know you're all alright."

Arthur smiled. "Thank you, Lancelot. It's a relief to be back and to know that Camelot was in such trust-worthy hands while I was gone." He stood from the desk and slowly walked towards the table. There was something off about his smile. It looked strained, almost brittle. "After all, even Merlin trusts you to keep his secrets, doesn't he?"

Lancelot's smile fell. "Arthur?"

Arthur went to sit down at the table. "Do you know, Leon, that Lancelot's known about Merlin's little secret all along?"

Leon felt unease crawling up his spine and remembered the look on Arthur's face when Merlin had made the fire in the grate come to life. "The magic, sire?"

Lancelot paled, but Arthur's strained smile never wavered. "Yes, the magic. In fact, he knew even before he was a knight of Camelot. He's been committing treason against his prince and his king from the very beginning. I thought it made no sense, after I met Lancelot, that we only trusted the nobility to become knights. But, perhaps, my father had a point after all."

"Sire, I only-"

"Enough!" Arthur's shout startled Lancelot into silence. "Sit down, Lancelot, before you embarrass yourself."

The knight hurried to comply.

"Did either of you come up with an official story for why I was gone?"

Leon took the change of subject in stride and shook his head. "The first day you were missing, we told anyone who asked that you were out on trip with Gwen. But after that, we didn't give any formal statement. The council knows, but the people weren't told anything." It was a gross oversight, but the council had not known what to say and neither had Leon. In the end it had seemed for the best to wait until they knew anything with certainty.

"How have the people responded?" Arthur directed the question at Lancelot, who squirmed in his seat.

"So far everything's been quiet. There are rumours, of course, some very wild ones. The most common one seems to be that you've fallen ill, like your father. Other than that people have been too busy, I think. There's been a great influx of refugees and wounded. Everyone's either helping with the war effort or sheltering refugees," Lancelot offered. "They've been nervous and anxious, but everyone seems to be holding up fairly well."

"No riots or anything?"

"There's been some brawls and things, but certainly not more than expected. Less, even, I would say."

Arthur looked relieved and nodded. "Very well, in the morning we'll announce that I had been injured on the trip in the woods with Gwen and have only recently recovered enough to go to war." He rubbed at his shoulder with his good hand, a frown on his face.

"Arthur, what really happened?" Leon intentionally kept his voice soft.

"Morgana had arranged to kidnap me from Camelot and take me to the Isle of the Blessed. I was gravely injured and I nearly died, but Merlin found me on time. He brought me to a local healer, Gloria Redwood. She saved my life and I asked her to come here to save the lives of my men."

"She's here? The witch who enchanted Leon?"

"She's helping Gaius with the wounded," Leon said, although the words seemed to come from somewhere else. "I saw her."

He couldn't seem to draw a steady breath. The air was too hot. It choked him every time his chest expanded to inhale and he wanted to cough or clear his throat. He was about to stand and excuse himself, get some fresh air, when the door opened and Merlin stepped inside. With him came a breath of air so fresh and cool that Leon almost shivered. He took a deep breath and held it, let the cool air sooth him and then let it out again. He would be fine. They would all be fine. Merlin quietly put a tray with food in front of Arthur, but his eyes met Lancelot's quickly, across the space of the room and Leon hadn't been the only one to see it.

Arthur's jaw tightened and he snapped, like an angry dragon, "you can go, Merlin and take Lancelot with you. The both of you can go conspiring in dark corners for all I care."

"We never conspire-"

"GO!" Arthur seemed about ready to throw the stew in Merlin's face and Merlin must be an expert in recognizing Arthur's tempers by now, because he fled, dragging Lancelot with him.

"You get kidnapped, Gloria Redwood comes to Camelot, Merlin has magic … what's next? Gwaine and Elena carrying on a secret romance?"

Arthur snorted and tore off a piece of his bread so violently it nearly made Leon wince. "Knock on wood, Leon. That's the last thing we need, lord Godwyn throwing a fit because his only daughter, the apple of his eye, is marrying a commoner turned knight."

Leon obediently knocked on the table. "I'm sure Gwaine has the proof of his parentage somewhere. You're not born Gwaine of Lot and then just forget about it."

Arthur's head snapped up from his meal. "What? Gwaine of what?"

"Gwain's father was a knight at Lot's court. I met him once and Gwaine carries his sword, which I recognized. Rumour has it that king Lot is Gwaine's true father."

Arthur dropped the spoon in his bowl and threw himself backwards against his chair. "First Merlin, then Lancelot and now Gwaine. At least Gwaine wasn't committing treason."

"What are you going to do?"

Arthur sagged at the question and tiredly shook his head. "I've no idea. If Merlin stays in Camelot, while I know that he … I'll be the one committing treason against my king. But to put him on the pyre, to kill him after everything, it wouldn't be right."

"You don't have to arrest him. No one knows. You could let him leave Camelot quietly, let him go back home, to Ealdor," Leon offered.

"I could, but then he'd be gone from me," Arthur said softly, his eyes cast downward, as if the idea was far too horrible for him to face.

TBC


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Leon sat with him until the stew was finished and then Arthur let him go to sleep. Slowly, Arthur got to his feet and wriggled his arm out of its sling. His shoulder protested slightly at the weight, but he couldn't wear it out in public. He'd prefer to fall into bed and sleep until morning. His duty demanded that he go out. His people hadn't seen him in ages and he'd snuck into his own city like a thief in the night.

He went to the kitchen first and thanked cook for sending up stew so late at night. He asked one of the maids to bring him an apple, which he fed to his favourite horse when he visited the stables. He stood petting Broch for at least another ten minutes, to make sure the stablehands had gotten a good look at him before he found Frederik's brother and gave him the missive for the Southern lords. Next, he took a stroll along the wall, greeting the guards one by one. Some he knew better than others and he stopped to ask them after their health and their families. His next stop was the great hall and never in his imagination had he conceived of the wounded he found.

There were many more than he had anticipated. The entire great hall was filled with as many tables, cots and mattresses as it could hold and they were all filled. A few only held figures with the sheets pulled up over their faces. Others had peacefully sleeping men, but some were whimpering and crying and still bleeding. He could see Gloria at the other end of the hall, bent over someone. A soft glow briefly winked at him, as if someone had lit and snuffed out a candle in the same breath. He knew what it was though and looked away, trying to find Gaius in the gloom. The old man was stooped over a patient and as Arthur approached, he could see Gaius was looking up from his own patient every few minutes to glance at the witch working ahead.

"Gaius."

"Sire!" Gaius's voice just a whisper, but still strong enough to express his surprise. "I was not aware that you were … coming … to the hall."

Arthur nodded. "How is everything?"

"Things have settled. Your guest is looking at those who I thought were beyond help."

"Yes, my guest, she has the same remarkable skills your apprentice has." And he nodded at Gloria's direction at the exact time the orange glow lit up again.

Gaius stood silent for a minute. "Merlin has many remarkable skills. He'll be a fine physician someday, if he keeps up with his studies."

Arthur nodded, although deep inside he wanted to scream and shout. He wanted to confront everyone who had known and ask why them? Why had Merlin told them? Trusted them? All those close to Merlin except for Arthur. He took a deep breath and smiled. "You should get some rest, Gaius. You've been working very hard. My guest can take it from here."

He didn't wait for Gaius' reply, instead heading towards Gloria. She had one hand resting on the left side of a young soldier's chest. He could see the edges of the amulet in the space between her fingers and with a muttered hiss, the clear stone shone a bright yellow, far brighter than the soft candle-like glow of before. It almost completely lit up their side of the hall. In the dark that followed, Arthur could see the edges of a smile on her face.

"How is everything going?"

She shrugged. "I haven't lost one yet." She carefully removed her hand and Arthur could see now that the soldier's chest had been pierced by arrows many times. "This one's left lung had collapsed. I managed to inflate it again, so his breathing has improved. However" – she leaned down and rested her ear carefully against the right side – "I think his right lung has been pierced." She straightened and started rummaging in a bag at her feet.

"He's bleeding internally. I'll have to open him up."

Arthur could feel the blood leach from his face. "_Open him up?"_

She nodded and with one hand cupped the back of the soldier's head and with the other poured the content of a bottle in his mouth. "This will sedate him nicely. And yes, open him up. It's a very modern procedure. I'll cut open his chest and repair the damage inside as I'll actually be able to see it." She released the soldier's head, put down the bottle near his head and gently prodded at his chest. Her eyes glowed brightly. "I think his lung has been damaged too much to repair. The top half is good though, so I think I'll be able to cut the bottom bit off."

"What?"

"I'll cut away the damaged pieces and use magic to cauterize shut whatever remains."

"Can you live with one and a half lungs?"

"You can live with one lung, if you have to. Less than that becomes tricky." She pulled a knife from her bag and held it into the flame of a nearby candle. After, she quickly plunged it into a nearby bowl of clean water. Through the haze of smoke, he could see the glint in her eyes and teeth. "You staying for this bit?"

He shook his head. "No, I think I'll leave you to it."

He reminded himself that this had been his idea; that bringing Gloria here was for the best and that while he might not approve of her methods, she would save hundreds of lives. Arthur had an obligation to his people, to do what was best for them and right now, keeping them safe from war and death was his first priority. He slowly crossed the hall, occasionally stopping and saying a word to the people who were conscious. In the half light of candles and burning braziers, he could see Gwen bent over a table, a white sheet in her hand. In one smooth movement, she pulled it over the head of the lifeless body beneath it and Arthur watched as she stood there for a moment. Her shoulders drooped and her head was bent. He wondered if she was crying and the thought made his heart twist into knots.

"Gwen."

She looked up, startled, tears on her face and then slowly, very slowly, she smiled. "Arthur!" Her whisper flittered through the hall and a few heads turned in their direction, but Arthur didn't care. Instead, he pulled her close and embraced her, allowed himself the luxury of breathing in the scent of her hair and appreciate the feel of her; soft and small, in his arms. He could feel her arms wrap around his waist as she trembled against his chest.

He wasn't sure how long they stood there, but eventually he drew her away into the empty corridor beyond. The torches were lit and in the stronger light of their fire he could see the exhaustion on her face. She was smiling though and the sight was enough to soothe down his anger for just a moment.

"Are you alright?"

Gwen gave him a tired, almost incredulous laugh. "Yes, I'm… I'm not hurt, just tired. There's been so many wounded and dying. But what about you, Arthur, what happened to you? Are you alright?"

He smiled. "I'm fine." And even with his shoulder and the cuts on his back and Merlin's betrayal; it was true. The sight of her was enough to drown out all those sorrows. "I'm alright. Morgana had me, for a while, but Gwaine and Merlin found me." He wouldn't tell her about the magic, about Merlin's lies now. He was tired and all he wanted to do was hold her. He brushed back a few strands of her hair and then leaned down to kiss her. She leaned back and away.

He froze for a few seconds, still leaning forward and down, waiting for a kiss until he slowly straightened and let go of her altogether. The smile on her face had crumpled completely and he didn't know what was happening.

"Gwen, is everything alright?"

"I" – her voice was wet and shaky – "I don't know how to tell you. I didn't mean…. Lancelot said that I should wait until after the war is over, but I can't wait, I can't do this and you deserve to know, you _should_ know and" she stopped abruptly when Arthur interrupted.

"Lancelot?"

She nodded and Arthur didn't know if the tears in her eyes were real or a trick of the light. He weighed his words carefully. "Did something happen?" She seemed lost for words, her hands nervously wringing together and Arthur's stomach was sinking slowly, slowly into the lowest reaches of his bowels. "Gwen, please just tell me."

"I kissed him." She looked horrified at herself and one hand reflexively clamped over her mouth as if she hadn't meant to tell him at all. She opened her mouth to say something else but Arthur just shook his head; he wasn't sure he'd hear her over the ringing in his ears. The silence that followed reminded him of the silence in Gloria's cottage, not even the crackle of a fire or the sigh of the wind could be heard.

He searched her face and there were tear tracks on her cheeks now. "Do you regret it?"

"I," the words stuttered in her throat. "I regret being untrue to you, Arthur, you deserve so much better."

"But you don't regret kissing him."

Again, that damning silence.

"Do you love him?" He didn't raise his voice but a part of him wanted to, wanted to shout and rage and yell. The other part of him just hoped that she would say no, that she would swear to be faithful to Arthur. He'd forgive her this, forgive her everything as long as he was the only man in her heart, the only man she loved.

"I do." He almost couldn't hear her words over the sound of her sob.

There were tears pricking behind his own eyes now and he blinked them away. "I thought you loved me." There was no air in his lungs to shout with. He felt drained and tired. It was too much now, after Merlin, it was too much.

"I do!" She hopped forward, as if the anxiety started in her feet and raced up her legs. Her hands fluttered over his chest. "I do! You must believe me. I just… Lancelot… I….."

He stepped further away. "Do you want to be with him?"

"I don't …. We waited so long to be together, Arthur, and I want …."

"What?" He wanted to grab her by the elbows and shake her, but he didn't. "What is it that you want?"

She pressed her eyes closed and tears seeped through underneath her eyelids. "I don't know."

He looked at her crying, but it wasn't the sight of her tears that moved him. His chest constricted with the thought that he was losing everything dear to him. He knew his eyes already looked red rimmed because no matter how hard he tried Arthur wasn't the kind of man who could hide his truest and deepest feelings. "But you do know, don't you? You kissed Lancelot. You made him a promise that you would tell me and so, you actually promised him that you would leave me."

"Arthur, I…"

"Please, don't, don't say anything more now. Let's just…" He looked away. "I thought we were happy."

"We were, I was happy," she whispered.

He nodded and looked at the floor. One of his boots was scuffed on the side. He realized he was still wearing the clothing Gloria had lent him. He looked back at Gwen. Lancelot had abandoned her twice and Arthur's love and support and patience hadn't been enough. He would have sacrificed a throne for her and it hadn't been enough.

"I understand, Gwen." The smile on his face felt wooden and cracked. "I hope that you and Lancelot are happy together."

She frantically searched his eyes. "You mustn't blame Lancelot. He's a good man and a good knight. This is my fault."

It was fitting, wasn't it? That Lancelot, who'd had Merlin's trust and friendship would also have Gwen's love. He nodded. "I understand, Gwen. Now, I should get some rest. I'm riding out early in the morning. You should rest as well. You look dead on your feet."

He stepped away from her touch and her hands grasped after him, as if trying to hold on. "Goodnight, Gwen."

"Arthur…"

He turned and walked away.

"Arthur!"

He didn't look back and she didn't call out after him again. It was odd to think that this was how it would end. He'd brought Lancelot back to the city and had given him the one thing Lancelot had always wanted: to be a knight of Camelot. Now Lancelot had taken Gwen from him. Lancelot, who'd known about Merlin's magic all along and who had introduced the two of them to each other anyway? Merlin. He'd met Lancelot in the woods and then gotten Gwen to fit him out with a suit of armour so Lancelot could pretend to be a knight.

Arthur could feel the slow ache in chest morphing into a foul mood and he sought his refuge in anger, as he always did. He was thankful that his chambers were close by. If he happened upon anyone now he might take their head off or worse, make them cry and then Merlin would make him apologize. The thought of Merlin made him scowl and when he wrenched open the door to his chamber he saw red when he realized a fire in the hearth was burning merrily and Merlin was laying out bedclothes on the bed. He stepped inside and slammed the door behind.

It was gratifying to see Merlin jump and then look back at him, startled but unafraid. The stubborn frown that had been on his face all day yesterday was back on his brow and Arthur desperately wanted to throw a boot, a goblet, something at it.

"What are you still doing here?"

Merlin dropped the nightshirt on the bed. "I just wanted to get your things in order. It's my job."

He wondered if Merlin knew, if Lancelot had told him that Gwen was going to leave Arthur and that was the reason he was still here. Because Merlin had some deluded notion that he was Arthur's friend and could help him through his heartbreak by making him talk about it. He gritted his teeth together. "I no longer require your services, you may go."

Merlin frowned harder. "Are you sacking me?"

"For God's sake Merlin! Just get out!"

Merlin's frown only deepened and he gave the nightshirt on the bed a little shove, full of resentment, as if he was blaming it for all his troubles. "Shall I polish your armour then, before we go? It's still in the armoury, from after the tournament, I never got round to it."

He sounded angry and Arthur didn't know why he kept trying to go on as if nothing had changed between them, as if everything was the same as the night when he won the tournament. It seemed a life time ago. "Will you magic it clean? Shirk your duty as you always do."

"I won't if you ask me not to."

Arthur resisted the urge to throw the nearest goblet at his face and instead walked towards the small desk, attempting to pull off his shirt as he went. His shoulder wouldn't obey him though and when he attempted to force it the muscle spasm forced him to his knees. He saw the edge of the desk headed his way and he braced himself for a painful knock on the head when he saw the desk shift back on its own and strong arms, stronger than he would have suspected, caught him.

"Arthur!" Merlin's voice was loud in his ears and he quickly attempted to right himself. But his arm wouldn't obey him and he had no choice but to allow Merlin to help him to the bed. Once he was sitting upright, Merlin immediately, carefully moved his arm to test it and Arthur winced at the stretch. "I should fetch Gloria. Her salve needs to go on here to loosen the muscle." Merlin's voice was low.

"Fine," was his only reply because he couldn't think of anything to say and he was just too tired and in too much pain to be angry right now. Merlin stood and collected his nightshirt from the bed. Arthur didn't say a word as Merlin helped him change. The fire crackling was the only sound and Arthur watched listlessly as its light played off Merlin's hair and cheekbones. All he wanted was sleep.

Merlin kneeled by his feet and pulled off one boot. "I'll go fetch her and then I'll polish your armour, get everything ready for tomorrow." His pulled off the other boot. "I won't use magic if you don't want me to, Arthur." He looked up and the left side of his face was completely illuminated, but the right was covered in shadows and Arthur couldn't even see the dip of skin underneath his cheekbone. His eyes were dark and bottomless. "Everything I've ever done, Arthur, was for you."

To Be Continued….


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Arthur slept fitfully and dreamed of eyes glowing in the dark, fire bursting to life with no kindling or match and a cool hand clutching at his own. He startled awake right before dawn by the crack of a whip in his dreams and no matter how much he tossed or turned; he couldn't lie comfortably. He decided to rise and slowly, carefully struggled into his shirt. His arm was still weak and he definitely wouldn't be able to swing a sword in two days' time. Thank God his old quartermaster had insisted on training his left arm and Arthur had taken over the habit for his own knights.

He'd just finished struggling into his trousers and was contemplating how to tackle his boots when the door to his room creaked open. He wasn't sure if he should be angry or relieved that it was Gloria instead of Merlin closing the door behind her. She laid her bag on the table.

"I thought you'd still be sleeping," she said and came to help him with his boots.

"What are you doing here?"

"Merlin sent me to wake you as I had to look at your shoulder anyway. He's getting you breakfast." Her hands were soft, but the sharp tug to make sure his boots were fitted properly jarred his shoulder anyway.

"How are the men?"

She stood and the cold light of morning served to highlight the circles under her eyes when he looked up into her face. She seemed tired, but solid; not as worn and rundown as most people Arthur had seen caring for the wounded. She was wearing the same dress she'd worn when they left her cottage; a blue slim skirt and sleeveless bodice tied at the front. She wore a white, long-sleeved shift underneath. "Most of them made it. Some will even make a full recovery, but I'm not sure many of them will be able to return and properly work as a farmer or a blacksmith or whatever they were."

Arthur sighed and shook his head. "At least they are alive."

Her eyes were hooded when they looked down on him. "For you, I assume, that must seem like a virtue. Plenty of men though wouldn't trade their livelihood for their lives."

Arthur wanted to sigh; it was too early in the morning to argue with Gloria. They'd been arguing all the way from her cottage to Camelot and he wanted some measure of peace. Why couldn't she just leave him alone? "Their wives, daughters and sisters will be happy enough for them."

She shrugged. "Maybe, but men often don't feel like men when they are burdens on an already burdened family."

Arthur looked at her in amazement. "I doubt their families would consider them burdens."

She shrugged again and went to fetch her bag. "You don't know what's it like to be poor, Arthur, and idle hands only you make poorer."

"They were injured fighting for their country, they wouldn't be iidle/i."

She reached out to help him remove his shirt and Arthur wondered why he'd even bothered to put on the damn thing. He was tired of being dressed and manhandled like a small child. When Merlin did it, he did it as Arthur's manservant, not as his carer or babysitter. He needed to recover and fast. He needed to swing his arm and cut down his enemies. He needed to be strong.

"Injured or idle, doesn't matter, those hands can't work to feed you or your children." She took a jar of salve from her bag and set to rub it in his shoulders. "You should have let me do this last night too."

He wanted to shrug her off. "Those men risked their lives so that others might be free from rape, plunder and murder. They have earned the right to be cared for."

Her hands were smooth with only the echo of callouses against his skin. She raised an empirical eyebrow at him. "Cared for? By who?"

She must be bating him deliberately. She liked to. He had noticed that habit; poking and pushing and prodding at him and all the vulnerable corners she thought he had. "By their families! Who else?"

"They fought for you and if you feel so strongly about it, why don't you care for them?" She snapped at him and pulled at his shoulder almost roughly, but not roughly enough to jar his injuries. Sometimes she touched him like he wasn't even human; like she wasn't laying her hands on a man of flesh or blood but on a stump of wood or metal in need of a carpenter or a blacksmith.

"I - " He hesitated. The thought had never crossed his mind; families had always been responsible for providing for soldiers returned from war. Even if they couldn't. "I wouldn't know how." The realisation startled him. He'd never given it much thought. Things were the way they were because they'd always been that way and it was only because of…. Because of Merlin that he'd even begun to question the little every-day rules of his life.

"Well, you're their king; educated and surrounded by learned advisors. If you can't figure it out, how can you expect them to? Besides, isn't it your duty to care for them?" She pulled her hands away. "Let that dry. Don't put the shirt back on."

"You sound like Merlin," Arthur said and he didn't know whether he meant her severely lacking healer's manners or her opinion of his duty.

She snorted. "Merlin? Please; if I start swooning left and right over all your virtues and proclaim how much _faith_ I have in you, please just put me out of my misery."

He didn't know what to say to that, so he didn't say anything. She made him stand up and passed her hands over his back. The injuries there were all healing, but the heat of her hand made them itch. She then carefully rotated his shoulders to test the feel and mobility. She was frowning.

"Everything alright?" He didn't want to admit it, but the frown made him anxious. She frowned every time he opened his mouth to speak, but not when handling his injuries. Her pride seemed to prevent her from frowning over matters of the body.

She mumbled something under her breath and her eyes flared gold for a moment and he could see, briefly, a flash of gold, spidery veins, muscles and bones hover over his shoulder. She rotated his shoulder again, but pushed harder on the joint and he couldn't hide the wince or how his knees buckled under the pain. She caught him, her grip strong and secure.

"What was that?" His breath was shallow and he took a deep lungful of air to even it out.

"You should use your left arm during battle, if you can." Her voice was soft, even if it never really lost that hard edge. "The damage to the muscle is severe. If you strain it too hard you might damage it permanently."

"Damaged how?"

"Your swing will probably never be as strong as it was, but I'm mostly worried about your range." She pushed his arm upward. "Notice how the muscles spasm and contracts when you reach high up?" She nudged him further, just enough for him to feel the warning twinge but not more.

There was a knock on the door and she lowered his arm to his side. He stopped her from reaching for her bag. "Not a word about that to anyone."

Her face took on a neutral, placid façade and she stepped back. "A healer and her patient share the strictest confidentiality."

He snorted and turned to the door. "Come in," he turned to pick up his shirt and motioned for her to help him into it.

Merlin was carefully balancing the breakfast tray while Leon held his arm pressed against the door to hold it open for him. The breakfast tray was filled with sausage, eggs, toast and a pitcher of juice and Merlin carefully put it on the table although he couldn't stop a little bit of juice sloshing over the edge. He quickly mopped it up with one the napkins he'd brought with him. He seemed to be ignoring them and Arthur both wanted him to look up and to keep staring at the tray. Instead, he looked at Leon who was dressed in standard armour.

"Sire," Leon said and inclined his head in a small bow. "Preparations are under way. We should be ready to leave in an hour's time."

"Excellent," Arthur said when his left arm found the appropriate sleeve and Gloria smoothed the shirt down over chest. "Preparations for the field hospital?"

"We've taken the largest tent we have out of storage and we are taking as many cots as we can. Bandages and blankets have been divided between the needs of Camelot and the battle field. We've taken on extra provisions now that we'll be sustaining injured men near the field as well."

Gloria had taken her bag from the floor and Arthur turned to her when Leon finished. "What about herbs? Medicines?"

She didn't look away from his face when she spoke: "I still have one saddlebag left with supplies from my cottage. I brewed some extra in Gaius' workshop before light this morning. We've also discussed the appropriate measures taken in field hospitals and we've taken as much from his supply as we dare. We'll be passing through the forest on the way though, I suggest that either myself or Merlin go to collect more herbs while we travel."

"Merlin will do it. Have Gwaine come with you."

"I don't need a bodyguard," Merlin said. He stood there, tall and still as if Arthur hadn't turned away from him the night before.

"Right, you can take of yourself, can't you?" His voice wasn't as harsh as he wanted it to be. He sounded tired and old.

Merlin simply nodded. "I'll go see to your armour."

"And my horses," Arthur said. "Make sure Gloria has a horse." He turned his head slightly so he could see her. "You can sit a horse by yourself, can't you?"

She rolled her eyes at him and straightened the shirt with a vicious snap of her fingers. "Of course I can."

He grinned and he didn't bother hiding his malice. "Don't be offended, most of the common folk can't sit a horse."

For a woman so proud of her heritage and ancestry; she managed to keep her temper at the insult to her line. The only sign of her anger was the flinty look in her eyes and Arthur was certain he was the only one standing close enough to see it.

Merlin cleared his throat. "Well, I'll be off."

"I should go too," Gloria said and quickly followed Merlin out the door. Leon didn't look at her and if he leaned away when she passed him, Arthur didn't feel the need to comment.

"What of the city?" Arthur asked as he passed Leon on his way to the table. He sat down for breakfast and ignored the sling hanging over the chair-back.

Leon went to stand at attention, but Arthur waved at him to sit down. "Lancelot's roster seems solid and there are enough men to hold the city for weeks if need be."

Arthur nodded. "Yes, we can trust Lancelot to keep people safe for us, can't we?"

"Sire?" Leon looked wary and Arthur shook himself. This was neither the time nor the place and he wasn't in the habit of spraying his girlish feelings all over the place. He wasn't Merlin, for Christ's sake, who couldn't contain his tears at the sight of a dead rabbit.

"What about the food supply?" He crunched on some bacon and realized that Merlin must have begged cook for it from the stores or lied about Arthur wanting it specifically. They were low on bacon after the many guests they'd entertained after the tournament. He didn't want to feel pleased.

"We're low, unfortunately, but some of the refugees from the outlying villages managed to bring in food and livestock, so we should be fine. I should also mention that Amadis de Gaul has requested to come to the battlefield and fight in your name. He wants to pledge an oath of fealty after the war and remain in Camelot, with your blessing."

Arthur blinked. "Really? Wouldn't his lord object?"

"He's nobility from Gaul. He has the crest and the training to back it up, but his family lost their lands to the Romans long ago and Amadis's father chose exile over swearing allegiance to the emperor."

Arthur snorted. "There is no emperor in Rome, just some jumped up general who pretends to be a descendent of Caesar to claim the purple. If Amadis wants to fight for us, he can although you can tell that I prefer to keep a knight of his calibre at Camelot in case the war comes here. I can't promise him lands or wealth, but he will always have a place here in Camelot."

"I think securing a place in Camelot will be reward enough." There was a small twitch near Leon's mouth; a sign of humour. He almost looked smug.

Arthur grinned and for the first time since he'd woken up, felt some measure of good humour. "I'm sure I don't need you to tell me why."

Leon shook his head and his eyes crinkled with mirth. "No, Sire, I trust so. If you'll excuse me, I need to see to some last minute preparations."

Arthur excused him and slowly finished his breakfast. There was no fire in the grate and he resisted the urge to crawl underneath the warm blankets to fight off the chill pervading the room. He should have told Merlin to light a small fire in the grate. He stared at his plate, partially empty now. He usually let Merlin have his left overs. Sometimes Gwen brought him breakfast and they'd sit and talk and eat together.

He rested his hands on the table and slowly curled them into fist. It was better to be angry than heartbroken. It was hard though, to be angry at Gwen and far too easy to be angry with Lancelot, to be… jealous. He tightened his fists. Merlin, on the other hand, it was easy to be angry with Merlin. With his ears and his neckerchief and his iuselessness/i; that made it easy. It was easy.

Merlin returned from the armoury and Arthur steadfastly refused to look at him as the armour was strapped on. When Merlin finished, Arthur walked out without a word. He went to the stables and collected his horse, already saddled and waiting. A second one was waiting by its side; the one Merlin usually rode. The sight of it made him falter, but only for a second.

The marching footmen and the carts assembled at the city gates, but the few cavalry knights gathered at the square in front of the citadel. Someone had found Gloria a steed, as per his orders. He preferred to have her near the front to keep an eye on her. She was standing near Merlin, holding on to the reins of her horse, and they seemed to be having a furiously whispered discussion. Leon stood as a beacon of calm in the chaos, directing riders on where to stand. His squire, Neville, was holding on the reins of their horses. Some of the knights were saying goodbye to sweethearts and Arthur could spot several favours tied into chinks of chainmail.

"Thank you for waving us off, Lady Elena. I'm sorry I didn't speak with you last night."

Elena looked pale and her smile was a bit strained at the edges, but her grip on his arm didn't lack any strength. "Don't worry about it, Arthur, you had more important things to see to. I'm just glad you're alright."

He inclined his head and with a firm squeeze of her hand, descended the stairs to his mount. The stable boy didn't look him in the eyes, but bowed differentially. Arthur dismissed him with a wave of his hand. This was how servants were supposed to act. They were supposed to come and go and leave well enough alone. They weren't supposed to look at you or talk back at you or make you want to be a better man or make you love them. None of that rubbish.

"Dear Sir, I thank you for your protection, for laying your valour, strength and courage at the service of this great land." Elena's voice was clear and rang out over the din. "Would you honour me to wear my favour into battle and keep me close to your heart?"

The sight of Elena braiding one of her lovely blue ribbons into the chainmail at Gwaine's chest would now be permanently seared across his brain.

Gwaine's raspy rumbled reply reached just as far Elena's clear tones, because the whole courtyard had gone as silent as a tomb. "The honour is all mine, lady."

Arthur turned away to mount his horse and very carefully did not look at Leon as he did so.

To Be Continued….


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

There was something fundamentally wrong with watching Arthur ride at the front, alone, without Merlin half a foot away chattering his ear off. In fact, there was something wrong all together with the silence and the pinched look on Merlin's face. Arthur didn't look much better either. His face looked like a smooth slab of stone; every expression carefully hidden. But his distress was plain if you knew where to look; in the red of his eyes and the creases around his mouth. But there was nothing Gwaine could do or say that would make it better. There was no space for anyone else between Arthur and Merlin.

The company was called to a halt and Gwaine sighed in relief. They had five minutes to water the horses and stretch their legs. Gwaine was lucky he was used to long days on a horse. He spotted one or two squires grimacing as they wobbled about bow-legged. Most of the army were footmen though; farmers, barmen, blacksmiths, tailors, cooks and some too young to even have a profession or be apprenticed anywhere. They took the five minutes to sit down and rest their feet, or have a quick bite of something they brought from home.

"I'm going to gather herbs with Gloria," Merlin said. His voice was low and scratchy.

Gwaine grimaced. "Do you need me to come?"

"I can handle her."

"Thank you for the show of faith, both of you," Gloria sneered at them.

There was no heat behind any of it, Gwaine knew. Merlin was too grateful for Arthur's life and Gloria too guilty about Leon. He could tell in the way she looked at Leon when he couldn't see her and the way she, inevitably, looked away when he turned to meet her gaze. She seemed afraid, almost, of his eyes, of his touch, of his very being and yet, hopelessly drawn closer. She couldn't face her guilt, but it ate away at her, nonetheless. She hid it well, underneath her prickly pride and brusque manners, but Gwaine could see it, like he could see the guilt that marked Lancelot and Gwen, Arthur and Merlin.

It was just easier to pretend, for everybody. They disappeared into the forest among the foragers and Gwaine watched them go. When he turned to tend to his horse, he nearly jumped out of his skin to find Leon standing _right behind him._ He was looking after Gloria and Merlin, a frown on his face. Gwaine chose not to say anything.

They re-mounted when the call came and in the ensuing bustle, Merlin and Gloria ended up somewhere in the back while Gwaine ended up riding next to Leon. He was sure that wasn't coincidence. Gwaine didn't mind Leon; he had a dry sense of humour and was easy to talk to. He was reliable and loyal and he could play the politics of court, which meant the rest of them didn't have to. Although, Leon might have to teach him the basics. He reached up to touch the ribbon on his chest. The silk was soft, softer than the ribbon she'd given him for the tournament. He still had that one hidden in his pack and it was slightly stiff now, with washing and handling. He puffed up his chest when he caught Leon looking. Leon was too dignified to roll his eyes, but Gwaine knew he wanted to on the inside.

"Stop playing around with it."

Gwaine grinned. "You make it sound so dirty."

"Don't be disgusting. I don't want to die with that image seared into my brain."

"You should be so lucky," Gwaine said and clenched his hands around the reigns so he wouldn't reach up for it again. But Leon knew, as he always knew everything.

"Does her father know?"

Gwaine shrugged. "She said she'd handle him and I'll wager he knows now whether she did or not."

Leon nodded, thoughtfully. "I suppose, after that display. You certainly surprised everyone." And yet, somehow Gwaine had the sense that Leon hadn't been nearly as surprised as the others had been. Leon looked at him. "You're not afraid of his reaction?"

"For her sake," Gwaine answered truthfully. Elena loved her father. She was devoted to him and cared for him. It would hurt her feelings if Godwyn disapproved of her choice, but Gwaine had made his vows and Elena had promised him. "Elena knows her own mind. She won't throw me over on his account. I don't think."

"You could always just come clean about who you are."

Gwaine wasn't surprised Leon knew. Leon knew everything. It would be tiring, if it wasn't reassuring. "I could."

"No one would think any less of you, or more for that matter."

Gwaine laughed. "I'd drink to that." He turned his face into the sunlight and closed his eyes. "I'm not a noble man's son. I'm a scoundrel raised on the road, made knight because I was lucky. I'm loyal to my friends first, to my prince second and to my king not at all. I drink too much and pay for my drinks with money that isn't mine. That's who I am."

Leon laughed and Gwaine grinned into the sun. The horse moved in a steady pace underneath him. He was marching to war, but today was a good day. When he straightened up, he had to blink the spots from his vision and the glare of Arthur's freakishly blonde head nearly blinded him. He was alone at the front and it reminded Gwaine that Merlin's absurdly large ears weren't up there with him.

"Merlin should be up there," Gwaine said.

"You think so?"

Gwaine shrugged. "My friends first and my prince second."

"Arthur _is_ my friend," Leon said. His voice was slightly strained and Gwaine remembered that Leon and Arthur had been young boys together, pages and squires and all the stages of knighthood. Gwane had Merlin, but by that token, Leon had Arthur. Leon sighed. "Did you know? About Merlin?"

"Not until Arthur went missing. Did you?"

"No, not until his little trick with the fireplace, which was probably for the best. If I'd known, I would have had to tell Arthur and he would not have been happy."

"I'd say, he did not take it well. There was shouting and the very visible urge to throw things."

Leon snorted. "He looked like that, last night when he was giving orders. I thought he'd get up and strangle Lancelot, busted arm or no. I'd hate to be Lancelot right now."

"It didn't come to that, with Merlin. Gloria calmed him down, or forced him to, anyway. Although I think he shouted at her too."

"She did try to kill the king."

"I think he was mostly shouting about you."

Leon fell silent and didn't say another word until they made camp. They'd marched all day at a brisk pace to Vortigern's keep. The ruins of the old keep stood proud on the single, solitary hill, but its shadows seemed friendly, almost welcoming. Most of the footmen grouped together in larger tents or slept underneath the naked sky. All the knights had their own tent and Arthur had his great pavilion unfurled. Campfires were lit and braziers stood like beacons lining out the perimeter.

Gwaine allowed Winfred, one of the older pages, to take the reins of his horse. He'd decided to leave Terrance behind in Camelot. The boy's father might think a little bit of battle would straighten him out, but Gwaine would put money on Terrance feinting away and falling onto an axe. So, he'd tracked down an eager page to take with him to battle in between his non-sleeping hours, most of which were spent in Elena's company; holding her hand like a young boy and almost afraid to ask for a kiss.

"I had no idea you and the Lady Elena were courting, sir," Winfred said.

"I'm sure no one was supposed to know, right Sir Gwaine?" Neville's grin was definitely improper, but Gwaine let it slide. Neville was a man, now after all. He'd killed men in battle and everything.

"Shouldn't you boys be grooming horses and keeping your mouths shut like good little squires?" Gwaine asked.

Neville blinked. "How would you know? You've never been a squire." He must have learned that blink from Leon because there was mirth hidden there in a single flicker.

Winfred, however, blushed to the roots of his hair and looked absolutely scandalized at the clear reference to Gwain's supposed peasanthood. Gwained simply laughed because Leon was right; he'd prove his heritage soon enough and then they'd be whispering about the rumour that Lot was his father instead of a random farmer in the north.

He clapped Winfred on the back and left him to it. Arthur had called a meeting in the grand pavilion and if Merlin was going to be there, Gwaine didn't want to be late.

"The southern lords should have been here by now," Leon was saying when Gwaine entered the tent and noticed that Merlin was absent.

Arthur shook his head. "They'll be here. They won't ignore a call with the royal seal if they know what's good for them."

Gwaine looked outside. "Is that what the lightshow outside is about? A little display of power?"

Arthur bared his teeth and gestured to the luxurious rugs on the floor and the wooden throne he was sitting on. "A little display never hurt anyone." He stood slowly. His arm was back in the sling, which he didn't wear while the army could see him. He joined them at the table, where a huge map was spread out; stopped from rolling up by goblets and a stray dagger. He laid his finger on the river Thaus.

"So far, it seems that Bayard held the truce or Elyan held the river. We're running out of time and men. The coming battle has to be a short one."

Leon gestured at the map. "We know that Bayard holds the northern bank two leagues in each direction at least."

"That means the ford to the Northern Plains is probably still free. If a separate force can cross the river there and go through the plain. Bayard will be caught between us."

Leon shook his head. "He'll have spies in place to warn him. A small force would be caught off guard and we can't afford to send a larger group with no assured victory."

Gwaine looked over the map. There didn't seem to be any bridges or ferries marked, but then again, not all bridges or ferries were marked on a map. "And there's nowhere else to cross the river?"

"Not close enough for our forces to strike simultaneously," Arthur said. "We need to smash him; catch him between hammer and anvil. If our timing is off, he might be able to retreat and prolong this war. We've already lost enough men, crops and livestock. We can't allow this to go on much longer. Our victory has to be quick and thorough."

"What about fishing villages? Most of them have evacuated, but their boats must still be there. We could commandeer a few." Gwaine didn't exactly have a lot of experience with boats, but how hard could it be?

Arthur nodded thoughtfully. His fingers tapped against the map's parchment. He turned to Leon. "Do we know if the villages are still intact?"

Leoin pointed at the map. "These two were burned down almost completely before we got here. There is a little hamlet about two leagues to the west. It's new and tiny. It's not on any of our maps and it is possible that Bayard doesn't even know it exists."

"Alright, Gwaine, take a company of 200 men; the best sharp shooters we have. If you can leave within the hour you could cross the river before sunrise. See if there's anyone who knows the terrain among the ranks. It'll go faster if we have a guide, or anyone who has experience with a boat."

His eyes darted over the map. He looked focused; like he belonged; a war general and hero on the front lines. "When the southern lords get here, we'll divide our forces. Leon will take one force and approach the battle from the east. I'll take the largest force and meet Bayard head on when we join with Elyan's forces. We attack at dawn. We're not giving Bayard any chance to rally his forces."

"We've made Ampthill our main camp. We should set up the hospital there. It's close enough to the field of battle but not too close in case we need to retreat," Leon offered.

"Is it defendable?"

"It is if we can hold the bank, but the river is our only natural barrier and there's no higher ground. If need be, we can retreat through the forest of Asciter, or use the ridge for cover." Leon gestured at the map and Gwaine noticed the dotted line. A small village had been drawn on the other side of it, but he couldn't make out the writing.

Gwaine frowned. "Will we be safe so close to Cenred's lands?"

"Cenred's dead," and Arthur's smile was slightly unsettling, "and his people hold no allegiance to him. The closest village is Ealdor. They're loyal to Camelot. We could probably evacuate the wounded there, if we have to."

"Right, Merlin's from Ealdor, isn't he?" Gwaine asked; a look of such sheer innocence on his face Leon knew it wasn't innocent at all.

Arthur just glared at him, the whole of him stony and unwieldy. "Shouldn't you be leaving?"

Gwaine shrugged. "Sure, I'll see you two at sunrise."

He left the tent and lifting the tent flap let it in a burst of cold air and some of the candles went out. A young stablehand quickly went to light them and the ensuing silence was almost painful. Arthur's muscles were tense and Leon wanted to say something about Merlin and loyalty and trails by fire, but didn't find the words. Sometimes, he felt that he stood closest to Arthur; a true friend and companion. At other times, he felt like he barely knew the man who would be his King.

Leon cleared his throat. "Shall I patrol the pickets, sire? The lords from the south should be here soon. They deserve a welcoming a party."

Arthur nodded. "Yes, they certainly do."

Leon left the tent to do his duty and knew that, even with that stablehand lighting the candles, he was leaving Arthur entirely on his own.

To Be Continued


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: An Interlude

It was a warm night, when the wind lay still. Leon stood in the dark. A torch was planted a few feet on his left and another on his right. The light of the camp burned a flickering orange a few feet behind him and he could hear the wind as well as the faint sounds of men talking, turning on their bedrolls and roasting their supper. He heard the rustle of her skirt catch on the grass, but he thought it was a cloak or the wind until he turned around.

"What are you doing here?"

There were goosebumps on the bare skin of her arms and she seemed to shiver in the wind. He didn't know why she didn't wear a cloak. Gloria stepped closer, and he didn't step back even though he wanted to.

"I was looking for you."

"Why?"

"Don't play dumb. It doesn't suit you."

He put his hand on his sword and her eyes flickered down, catching the move. He left his hand there and she looked back up, into his eyes. Her shoulders straightened; as if she was steeling herself. She hadn't looked at him like that since he'd held his sword at her throat in Camelot; in Arthur's chambers.

"You won't need that."

He inclined his head. "You'll forgive me if I'm not inclined to take your word on that."

She stepped closer again. "If there's anything about me you can trust; it's my word."

He smiled pleasantly. "You want me to take you on your word that your word is worth anything, but for me to take on your word that your word has worth I'd already have to trust your word."

She grinned; a display of teeth that seemed almost violent. "Arthur took it."

"Arthur took it because whatever might be going on between them now, he trusts Merlin to keep you in line. I don't see Merlin anywhere."

She shrugged, but looked away from his face for the first time. "He doesn't have to be here for this."

"This?"

She frowned and looked back up at him. "I need to talk to you. I need to ... apologize."

He didn't say anything. He didn't remove his hand from his sword either. She stepped closer again and she was only an arm's length away now. If he reached out his left hand, he could cup her shoulder, draw her closer or push her away, maybe even shove her down to the ground. He tightened his grip around the handle, to keep him grounded. He didn't say anything.

"I want to explain to you. Why I did what I did." Her voice was terse, almost brusque, as if this was an inconvenience. She sounded like she wanted to be anywhere else.

"You mean you want to justify your actions."

"Some of my actions _are_ justifiable. Not all of them." Her eyes cut away briefly; flitted to the dark around them until they landed back on his face. "What I did to you was inexcusable. It was vile and … reprehensible. The end does not justify the means, I know that now. But when I first came to Camelot, I was angry."

"And that excuses it, does it?" His voice was like the crack of the whip. He hadn't come close in losing his temper since he was a boy only weeks out of short breeches. He calmed himself down.

"Some of it, yes," she said.

"You told Arthur, at your trial, that Uther deserved the pyre more than you did. Is that your excuse, then?"

"Uther Pendragon is a monster. He's killed hundreds of my people, who were guilty of nothing except being born as what they were. He does not discriminate in his hatred; men, women, children…. It's all the same to him. He's wiped out entire clans, families. But because he is a king, he is beyond reproach. I simply took matters into my own hands."

"Not quite your own hands, though, were they?"

She shook her head and she looked angry again, frustrated. "If you would just listen."

"Why should I? I am not beholden to you in any way. I do not have to listen to you justify what you did to me. I owe you nothing; least of all a chance at forgiveness or redemption or whatever it is you want of me."

"I'm not trying to justify what I did to you!" Her raised voice almost echoed and Leon could hear a voice of the guard in the distance call out and he shouted back that all was well. It had not been a cry for help or warning for an ambush; just an angry girl.

She took a deep breath. "Uther killed my parents and he's killed hundreds of my people. I wanted to kill Uther and I thought it would be easy. After all, rumours abound that he was sick and had finally succumbed to being elderly. But when I arrived in Camelot, I realized that he was locked away in the citadel; like a poorly kept secret."

"I couldn't reach him on my own. If I'd found work at the keep, things might have been different but I was turned down because I did not have a reference. That's when I thought of using someone with access to the citadel. I'm not proud of that. I wanted justice and revenge and I thought that they were one and the same. I thought that as long as whoever did it, did not remember doing it, they could go on living guilt free because in the end, it was I that had forced their hand. I did not consider anything else."

She looked him in the eyes as she spoke and he did not loosen his grip on his sword.

"That night, in the Singing Hedgehog, it was coincidence it was you," her voice was thick. "You liked me and you stayed behind when the others had gone. You came up with me and we were alone and I…. I knew I wouldn't have another chance like this. You were a guard; not only that, but you were close to Arthur. You had access to every part of the citadel. They wouldn't question you and you wouldn't question it. You'd never know and I thought that would be enough."

"But I got caught and almost executed. If Merlin hadn't found you and if you hadn't been so foolish as to go after Uther yourself, I would be dead right now."

"Going after Uther was not foolish," she snapped at him. "Everyone was busy with the remains of the tavern. The citadel was nearly empty. If Merlin hadn't realized what I was doing, Uther would be dead, Arthur would be king and you would be fine. He'd have pardoned you."

"You don't know Arthur. All the evidence pointed to me and there were _witnesses_. He might have been convinced of my innocence but he couldn't prove it and it would have looked like an abuse of power. He would not have pardoned me. And what then?"

"I would have come back for you. I would have turned myself in."

"Really?"

"I don't know." Her voice was quiet and she couldn't look at him.

"I think that's the first honest thing you've said to me."

She looked up again and stared directly into his eyes. "Everything I've said to you tonight is true."

He didn't speak and neither did she. They stood there, in the half darkness. He could catch the light of the torches in her hair. She was almost as tall as he was. He'd forgotten that. In the weeks he spent searching for her and in his nightmares, he'd forgotten how tall she was. He'd remembered the particular shade of her hair, the smoothly rounded curve of her cheek, the straight line of her neck, the pleasing sweep of her bosom and the almost angular jut of her hip. But he'd forgotten her height. He didn't know why.

"I'm sorry it was you," she said suddenly into the silence. "I don't know if that makes anything better or worse, but if I'd had my pick, I wouldn't have picked you. I would have picked anyone but you."

"Why?"

She didn't answer and they didn't speak again for a time. Eventually, she sighed and turned around.

"Where are you going?"

"I've said all I want to say."

"Have you? Why did you come here? What did you think you'd gain by telling me all of this?"

She shrugged. "I wanted to tell you because I thought you should know."

He watched her walk away until she was swallowed up by the mass of tents and cooking fires. He turned back to the forests and the fields; torches on either side of him and he stared into the dark.

To Be Continued …


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Elyan had been lucky so far. The foraging parties had managed to find enough food to sustain them for a few days. They'd even been able to roast fresh meat and for once the camp had been loud with the crackle of fire, the hiss of roasting fat and drunk, well-fed laughter. The men sounded cheerful and battle seemed far away. It was surreal; the stars twinkling almost merrily overhead and he stared at the wall of darkness rising up beyond their circle of light. Even the stillness of deep night seemed calm and sanguine. Finding joy on the brink of death kept the fear at bay. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

The next day dawned cold and grey, with a sprinkle of mist floating over the ground. Elyan missed the sunshine of the last few days. It made things seem less grim, somehow, more hopeful. He went on with his duties anyway. Most of the lightly wounded had recovered and they'd been going over the distribution of the swords and armour left behind by the heavily wounded. They'd also managed to dig a ditch a few miles behind the river. It was another line of defence in case they had to retreat and kept the men busy instead of twiddling their thumbs and losing their courage. They'd cleaned up the ruins of the village, using the blackened beams as support for a make-shift hospital tent. He'd sent out a few skirmish forces to make sure that the truce was respected, but so far Cadarn Afon remained unoccupied and none of Bayard's forces had crossed the river Thaus to Ampthill. The picket lines were kept secure and Elyan thought that it must be all luck for Bayard to keep his word and hold the truce.

Leon should be on his way back by now and if Elyan's luck held, he would bring back news from Arthur. Or better yet, Arthur himself and the men promised by lords who were tardy in keeping their vows. Elyan wasn't sure they would be able to win the war without more men. He didn't doubt the courage of the common man, having been one himself, but he doubted their skill and their numbers. Camelot was fighting with only half its forces while its great and vast army had been a key bargaining chip in the negotiations with Mercia. Bayard might have used the truce to send for reinforcements, or make alliances with other enemies of Camelot. If war arrived on another border, Camelot was doomed. Elyan knew enough of politics to realize that if Camelot so much as seemed wobbly, other nations would hasten to topple her.

"Say what you want about Uther, at least he favoured peace," Elyan said.

"Not a bad trait in a king," Percival agreed.

It was a warm night when the wind was still, but the slightest breeze could cut through cloak, mail, gambeson, skin and bone. The fires in the camp flickered, but were big enough to withstand the assault. The smoke of the fires drifted low on the air; its pervading smell a comfort by now. Elyan pulled his cloak closer together. He'd take first night watch, in a bit.

"Where do you think you would be now?" Elyan asked. "If you hadn't met Lancelot and come to Camelot?"

Percival shrugged his massive shoulders. "Wandering about Albion, on my own, probably. Or I might have gone back home by now, if I was still alone. Back to my mother and my sister, hiding from the world." He seemed pensive. "If I live through this, I might go back to bring her to Camelot."

Elyan raised his eyebrows. "A sister? Really?

Percival gave him the side-eye. "Aye, but she won't be coming anywhere near you; any of you. Might be better to leave her in the forest after all."

"You don't trust your brothers in arms with your sister?"

He snorted. "I wouldn't trust any one knight with my sister. You're all drunks and scoundrels."

Elyan laughed. "That's a bit harsh. Leon, for one, is an upstanding bloke and I trust Arthur with my sister."

"That's because Arthur is your prince and he could have you beheaded. Leon is as honourable as the day is long, but I suspect he's a far craftier fox than he lets on."

Percival grinned and Elyan had to laugh; because it was true.

"How about you? Where would you be?"

Elyan shrugged and poked the fire. "Dead, probably, I wasn't getting out of Cenred's dungeon alive. But if he hadn't caught me, I'd probably be working as a blacksmith somewhere. I'd still be trying to find a place to make my own; to belong."

"If you wanted to belong, why did you leave home in the first place?"

"Why did you?"

Percival smiled ruefully. "Because I didn't belong, not even at home." He poked the fire and his stick collided with Elyan's. They engaged in a mock battle, batting stick against stick and Percival's smile was like a little boy's. "My mother didn't want to me to leave. She begged me. But I couldn't live my life with just her and Dindrane, my sister. I didn't belong in the woods, with just them and the animals for company. There was more out there and I had to see it. I had to find it."

Elyan nodded, because he understood. "I didn't belong either, or I thought I didn't. Gwen and father, they were fine in Camelot. They were happy, but I felt like something was missing. I wanted more than scraping by making pots and pans and doing a lady's washing. I thought if I left Camelot, I could start over and be more than a poor blacksmith's son. But everywhere I went, I could only get by as a blacksmith. If I hadn't gone back to Camelot, I'd still be wandering."

He poked the fire a few times. "It's different now, though. When I left, I was a poor man's son and that's all I was. But now, I'm a blacksmith and I'm also a knight. When I speak, I'm heard. I follow orders, but I can also give orders. I belong to something that is greater than I am. I belong to Camelot, but she also belongs to me."

"If I had a cup of ale on me, I'd drink to that." Percival took a drink from a flagon. "Because this isn't worth the time it'll take to piss back out." He passed it on to Elyan anyway. "I know what you mean, "though. When I met Lancelot, I thought that I was finally on my way to glory. But everywhere we went, we could only find work as stablehands, or farmers or sell-swords. There was no honour out there, in the wild. When we heard about trouble in Camelot, Lancelot insisted we go help."

"I didn't think it'd make a difference. I thought Camelot would be just like any other place and its nobles just like any other nobles. But Arthur, when we first met, he didn't turn his eyes away, look down his nose at me, or expect me to bow. He shook my hand, like an equal. He made me a knight, because I could fight and had come to his aid when he needed me. I went from being a lonely swell sword to a knight with six brothers at my back."

Elyan didn't have to say anything to that, because they'd said all they'd needed to say. Instead, he took a drink off the flask. The crude wine burned on the way down and left a bitter, acid taste in his mouth. It might have gone off by now, but it was still safer than drinking water from the river. Ampthill didn't have a well, as they were close enough to the river, but with an army barracking there and a village burned down, the river water couldn't be safe to drink. There was a well a few villages over, but they couldn't spare the manpower it would take to haul back more than what they needed for the horses, much less enough to give a minimum ration to all the foot soldiers.

So they'd dealt out the cheapest wine they had for rations. There wasn't enough for anyone to get drunk off it anyway. Not that Elyan would get drunk. Not when the night was getting colder and an enemy army might attack them at any minute. He should really get up and patrol the picket lines; take first watch. Percival would take last watch as always; watch the sun rising over the forests in the distance. He didn't mind first watch. It just meant getting up earlier and the world was a beautiful place early in the morning.

There was a light fog, covering the grass and clouding up the edges of the river. It had grown so cold during the night, Percival could see his breath in the grey light. The sun was hiding, behind a low, grey covering and he took it as a good sign. Sunlight glinting off metal could hit you in the eyes at exactly the wrong time and take your life. If there was to be a battle today, sun glare wouldn't kill him or fry him in his armour. There wasn't any rain either and the clouds didn't look too heavy. Hopefully, there wouldn't be any freak rain bursts to turn the battlefield into a mud bath.

Percival took a walk along the perimeter. The line in the direction of Camelot was calm and even though he strained his eyes, he couldn't catch the glint of steel or the red of a banner in the distance. It seemed like Leon would be arriving in the afternoon. Percival didn't care if Leon was late, as long as he brought Arthur with him. He turned away and followed the wide curve until he reached the line along the river Thaus, behind the ditch and with a start so violently it set his heart pounding in his chest; he was nearly run through by an enemy party. The fourth day had dawned and Bayard hadn't wasted a second.

"Attack!" He parried the thrust and gutted a blue-cloaked figure shrouded in morning mist. "We're under attack!"

The blow of the hunter's horn used by the pickets almost blew out his eardrum and for a second he could only hear an odd ringing in his ears. Then there was the clatter of arms and swords. In the distance he could faintly hear Elyan calling, "To arms! Wake up! To arms!" But he was too busy cutting down the last three men to pay close attention.

"It was just a scouting party!" He shouted and Elyan flinched because Percival hadn't known he was standing so close. "Four men in a scouting party, but the main forces won't be far behind."

Elyan had never looked so serious, but it suited him, the clean lines of his face and his full lips relaxed and firm. "Rally the men; one force under my command to march on the river as quickly as we can. Line up archers along the river bank; have them fire at will for as long as they can without endangering the cavalry. A small reserve will remain at the camp; watch the ditch and guard our back. Percival, with me."

He took only one moment to gather his battle axe and check the strappings on his armour. His horse was ready and waiting. The camp had exploded into a whirlwind of action. Men were struggling into their armour; a few mounting their horses. The foot soldiers were being shouted at by their sergeants to form a line. In less time than you'd think it would take, order emerged from the chaos and battalions and lines emerged from the sloppy rubble of tents.

Elyan was at the head of the cavalry and the foot soldiers followed in his wake. When they crested the bank; they could see the enemy army arranged on the shores of Cadarn Afon. Elyan charged and Percival followed. The wind whistled past him and he could feel the beat of the horses' hooves in his heart. They thundered down the bank and Elyan could see the blue-clad archers lined up to strike only to be cut down by Camelot's archers. Blue-clad foot-soldiers drew their swords; the metal ringing out. The water slowed them down only marginally, the river slow and sluggish with a small current, so far from the mountains.

When they reached the opposite shore, the little island of Cadarn Afon, they smashed through the line like a hammer crashing through a glass window. They cut through the foot soldiers like a hot knife through butter. They were only two lines. Percival could see the blue liveried cavalry lined up behind them and for a second he was confused by the sight. The next second, his horse collapsed underneath him. He slid off the flank and tried to wrest his ankle out of the stirrup as the beast screamed in distress. They were caught in a ditch with wooden spikes embedded in the soft ground. The foot soldiers had been a distraction and camouflage at the same time. They hadn't seen it coming.

He only had seconds before he managed to get his leg from underneath his horse's flank. The animal screamed again, stumbled and Percival threw himself to the side. He narrowly missed getting impaled, but the screaming was cut off into a bloody gurgle and Percival forced himself to cut his horse's throat out of mercy. A second later more foot soldiers were on him and he had to parry while keeping an eye the wooden stakes.

He blocked, thrust and pushed an enemy soldier unto one of the spikes. The man screamed as the wooden stake went through his ribcage, but soon he was only whimpering while blood bubbled out of the corner of his mouth. Percival could hear Elyan's voice, calling the men to gather to him but there were too many enemies close by. He was surrounded in a sea of blue and he couldn't seem to find any red. He should fight his way out of the ditch, find higher ground.

"Do not climb the ditch wall!" It was Elyan's voice, but Percival was near the edge and with one last heave he was over it.

"Fall back! Stay inside the cover of the ditch!" Elyan's voice again and when Percival stood on the ledge, he understood. A few of the Camelot cavalry had already crossed the ditch on foot and some of the foot soldiers had crossed as well. They stood there, ready prey as the enemy cavalry charged into them. He just stood there, like a rabbit caught by a wolf, staring at his upcoming doom when Elyan's voice cut right through him.

"Fall back! Into the ditch!"

He grabbed two red-cloaked figures next to him and pulled them into the ditch with him. The charge jumped over them, sailed over the wooden stakes and as the Mercian riders were busy turning their horses, Camelot charged on mass.

"Save the horses!" Elyan's voice again. "Get the men! Pull them off!" They swarmed over the riders like wild men, pulling them off their horses. Every time they pulled a man off; Percival made one of the footmen ride the horse across the river to Camelot's side. Their own horses had been decimated by the ambush and they needed replacements.

"Watch out! Charging at the back!"

Now that the cavalry had failed; Mercia was sending in their foot soldiers and soon the battlefield was too blurred to separate friend from foe. Only the sword coming at you was important and Percival was determined to kill any blue-clad bastard coming at him. He could feel the direction of the battle though. They were being pushed, steadily, into the river. They were losing ground and if Mercia gained the river; all of Camelot could be lost.

"Push forward! We're losing ground! Charge them!" Elyan's voice was firm, in control and Percival found himself pushing forward. Elyan was further away and Percival was surrounded by a barrage of mostly foot soldiers.

"Alright men!" He cut down a Mercian lieutenant. "Climb the ditch!" It was time to gain ground and the enemy cavalry was gone. "Forward! For Camelot!"

He pushed forward and he could feel the men pushing with him. Slowly, slowly they began to gain ground. A sense of panic began to envelop the Mercian soldiers. They ran up against his sword or screamed from behind the ditch. Everywhere, the noise of the battlefield seemed to descend into utter chaos and cries. He lost his sword so he pulled a wooden stake from the ditch and swung it along with his axe. Slowly, with the mist of morning far behind them and the high sun of noon on their backs, they gained the ditch and the sight that greeted him was almost beyond the imagination.

An army of red-clad soldiers had driven into the back of the Mercian army. The remains of the Mercian camps had been trampled and over run. Its reserve force was hurriedly and desperately arranging itself into ranks and line, but they were driven back into the arms of their comrades who were fleeing Percival's line of battle, wet and exhausted form crossing the river back to their own shore. Some immediately fled back into the water, only to be cut down by Percival's own forces as they crossed the ground of Cadorn Afon. The opposite shore was a miasma of blue clad figures desperately fighting for their lives, running here and there, while the golden dragon of Camelot fluttered on its standard and her men marched methodically, inevitably; like a stone avalanche in the mountains. Percival had no idea where they'd come from.

"To me!" And there it was; a voice shouting out over the din, clear and victorious. "To me!" Arthur; unmistakably Arthur.

Percival turned, and there he was. He sat on a black stallion, riding through the water. Surrounded by fresh men and fresh horses; he sat tall and golden-haired. His sword was raised and the steel glittered in the sun. He looked every inch the king and Percival's heart lodged in his throat.

"To me!" 

The whole battlefield seemed to breathe anew; like a fresh breeze driving out the death and despair. A strong wind seemed to billow from his direction and a voice cried out.

"To the king!"

The cry was taken up all around him and although Percival knew that the king was an old and withered man, although he knew that Arthur was a prince and general, he found himself raising his arm and shouting.

"To the king!"

Arthur punched the air with his sword and shouted. "Charge! Charge! Take the bank!" The cavalry charged and the footmen ran behind them. They seemed to fly over the ditch and so, the Mercian forces were caught between the hammer and the anvil. They smashed together in a screech of steel and the screams of horses. The standard of Camelot flew high in the sun and it seemed like nothing short of a miracle.

"Gather the wounded!" Percival shouted, almost afraid that his voice would crack like a boy's. He grabbed a few foot soldiers near him. "Gather the wounded; take them back to camp. Anyone else; to the king! Charge!" And he ran headlong into the din; like a fool and a crazed knight.

"He's come!"

Elyan's voice again, in the distance.

"Arthur's come! To the king! To the king!"

To Be Continued….


End file.
